


The Stars Of CCTV

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John Takes Charge, M/M, PWP, sofa sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Come-At-Once, for the prompt <i>You can't do that on television.</i></p>
<p>Sherlock decides to make a point to Mycroft, by having sex with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars Of CCTV

Mycroft had put new surveillance cameras in the sitting room. Sherlock spotted them the moment he and John arrived home from Birlstone and a wave of fury washed over him. How dare Mycroft resort to such underhand tactics? What did he think Sherlock was getting up to that meant he needed to be watched at all times?

“God, I'm dying for a cup of tea,” said John, taking his coat off.

Sherlock glanced at him and John gave him a contented smile as he caught his eye. It was a look that spoke of not just his happiness at being home and the thrill of having solved the case, but also the continuing pleasure that had resulted from the change in their relations two weeks ago.

A change that Mycroft wasn't yet aware of. Sherlock felt a smile cross his face as a plan occurred to him.

“I think tea can wait,” he said, taking off his own coat and hanging it up, and then starting on his jacket.

If he merely took the cameras down, Mycroft would just keep replacing them. Sherlock needed to make sure that he had no desire to ever watch anything that took place in Sherlock and John's home again. There was one fool-proof way of achieving that.

“I'm dying for something else first,” he added, taking his jacket off and tossing it to one side.

John's smile morphed into something a little dirtier. “Yeah?”

The cameras were positioned so that the sofa was at the centre of their image. Sherlock sat down on it to take off his shoes, posing himself so that his legs were spread toward John in invitation. “Yes,” he said. “I'd like you to fuck me.”

John looked briefly surprised, probably by how blunt Sherlock was being. They hadn't yet fallen into any routines with this kind of thing but Sherlock hadn't previously bothered to make his desires so clearly known, not when everything he did with John was so very good. He needed to calculate this to make sure that it disturbed Mycroft as much as possible though, and Mycroft had some rather old-fashioned ideas about sex. It would horrify him just as much to see Sherlock taking what he considered to be the subordinate, weaker position as it would to see him letting himself be controlled by such urges in the first place.

John's tongue darted out over his lips. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I think I can manage that.” He pulled off his jumper. “Bedroom?”

“Nope,” said Sherlock. Now that his shoes and socks were off, he started work on his shirt buttons. John's eyes riveted to his fingers and the strip of chest that he was revealing as he worked his way down, so he slowed his movements, turning them from merely functional to seductive. “I spent a lot of time lying on this sofa, thinking about you fucking me on it, while you sat over there and wasted your attention on other things,” he said, nodding at John's chair. “Time to put thought into action.”

“I promise that you have my full attention now,” said John. His fingers were going to his own shirt buttons as he toed off his shoes.

“Leave your clothes,” said Sherlock. “Just watch me for now.”

John's movement stilled. “Yeah,” he said, already sounding a bit breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

Sherlock took his shirt off, going slowly as he revealed his torso to John, who stared at it as if it was the first time he'd seen it. Sherlock was surprised by how much it turned him on to have John's attention fixed so firmly on him.

He had been intending to move straight on to his trousers, but instead he ran his hands over his chest, imagining they were John's.

“Christ,” muttered John as Sherlock paused to pinch one of nipples. “Christ, Sherlock, just- Look at you. So fucking hot.”

“And all yours,” said Sherlock. “You can do what you like with me. Just tell me what you want.”

He wasn't sure if the cameras came with audio but if Mycroft was listening, that would definitely upset him. A Holmes didn't let anyone else tell him what to do or offer himself up with no strings attached.

“Fuck,” said John. “Right, okay then. I want you to touch your other nipple, then. Roll it between your fingers.”

Sherlock was blissfully surprised. He'd have thought that the first thing John would do with that permission would be to rip off his clothes and join Sherlock on the sofa, desperate to get his hands on him. That would have fitted with the pattern of their encounters so far. This, though, - Sherlock did as John asked, sucking in a sudden breath as the action sent a shot of lust straight through him – this was so much more than that.

“Stand up,” said John. “Trousers off. If you're all mine, I want to see you.”

Sherlock stood up, undoing his flies with his eyes fixed on John's, then making sure to roll his hips as he pushed his trousers down. John wet his lips again, staring at Sherlock with a look so hot that he could almost feel it.

He pushed his pants down with his trousers, then stepped out of them, kicking them out of the way in order to stand, posed, for John to look at. John actually spent several moments doing just that, his eyes darting over the lines of Sherlock's body, and Sherlock realised that this was turning him on more than he would have assumed. He wanted John to look at him and approve, he wanted to find out what John would ask him to do given a blanket permission and he wanted to follow every instruction precisely so that he knew he was pleasing him.

“Fuck,” muttered John. “So hot, Sherlock. Look at you.” He reached out a hand. “Come here.”

Sherlock went to him. John kissed him, hands bracketing his face before they swept down Sherlock's neck and out over his shoulders.

“Anything I want?” he asked when he pulled away.

“Anything,” said Sherlock. “Command me, John.”

John gave a little shudder at that and Sherlock realised he was enjoying this game just as much as Sherlock was. “On your knees, then.”

Sherlock slid down to his knees in front of John, taking hold of his hips and then looking up at him, waiting for further instruction. Excitement was fizzing in his veins, building with the anticipation as John reached down to stroke a hand through Sherlock's hair, combing it away from his face as Sherlock looked up at him. Sherlock thought about the image that Mycroft would be seeing right now, and felt a surge of satisfaction. There was no way he would want to keep recording after this.

“Open my trousers,” said John.

Sherlock obeyed, feeling how hard John was beneath them as he slid down the zip.

“You're going to suck me,” said John. There was a slight shake in his voice that said he wasn't as confident about this as he was trying to appear. Sherlock ignored it. If John hadn't realised yet that Sherlock was serious about obeying him, he would be by the time they were finished. “Nice and slow, we're not in any rush. There's no crime scene to go haring off to.”

Sherlock flicked him a smile at that and then bent his head to comply. He started by sucking at just the tip, swirling his tongue around and into the slit until John let out a groan and clenched his hand tighter in Sherlock's hair. It hurt a bit, but Sherlock found he rather liked it.

He slide his mouth down further, taking in as much as John's cock as he comfortably could, then sucking, enjoying the feel of it filling his mouth. He kept it slow and relaxed, like John had asked him, trying to ignore just how much his own cock was aching now. He desperately wanted to abandon the pace for something faster and more desperate, but this was what John had asked for.

“Yeah,” said John. “Fuck, yeah, Sherlock, just like that. Keep going just like that. God, you look amazing like this, it's- ah, yeah, that's exactly right.”

Sherlock glanced up at him so he could see John's face, mouth hanging open as he began to slowly rock his hips towards Sherlock, his cheeks flushing. God, Sherlock wanted him so much. He couldn't stop himself from letting out a choked noise of desire from deep in his throat, which made John focus his glazed gaze on him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, letting go of Sherlock's hair. “Enough.”

Sherlock pulled back, panting, and moved back to rest his weight on his heels. “What do you want now?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

John stared down at him with dilated pupils. “Now, I want to take you apart,” he said. “Get on the sofa, on your back. Spread your legs and wait for me.”

He disappeared towards Sherlock's bedroom while Sherlock found the strength to do that, lying on the sofa in a pose that left him completely open and exposed, just waiting for John to come back and fuck him. He caught sight of the so-called 'hidden' cameras again and had to restrain a smile. Instead, he let his hand slide down to exactly where it wanted to be, wrapped around his cock, and gave it a couple of tugs, just to pass the time until John got back.

“None of that,” said John when he came back. He'd taken off his clothes while in the bedroom, as well as getting lube and condoms. Sherlock took a moment to enjoy the sight. “You don't touch yourself until I say you can.”

Sherlock took his hand away. “I hope you're going to get on with it then,” he said. “I asked you to fuck me quite some time ago now, and yet you still haven't got on with it.”

John settled on the sofa between his legs. “I got a bit distracted,” he said, and rubbed a thumb across Sherlock's lower lip with affection. Sherlock took the chance to suck it into his mouth, which made John's breath catch.

“You are very distracting, you know,” carried on John, pulling his thumb free, then running his hand down Sherlock's body to his thigh. “So many things I want to do to you. You have no idea.”

“Do them, then,” said Sherlock. He shifted his legs wider, offering himself up. “I'm waiting.”

“I can see that,” said John. “And so patiently, as well.” He opened the lube and coated his finger, then slid it back to Sherlock's hole, circling it while Sherlock fought the urge to just demand he get on with it already. 

“How long do you think I could get you to wait for me while I did this?” asked John.

His other hand was griping Sherlock's thigh, fingers pressing into the skin to keep him in place as Sherlock's desperation grew. Why wouldn't he just push inside already?

“You said I could do anything to you. What if one of the things I wanted to do was to keep you like this?” continued John. “I'd have to tie you up, I think, rather than rely on your self-control. The bed would be best. Hands stretched above you, tied to the headboard, while I teased you for hours, kept you just like this, aroused and desperate for more. Would you you beg me for it?”

Sherlock found the idea far more intriguing than he would have thought, but the image didn't do anything to ease his frustration. “Another time,” he gritted out. “Just get on with it now.”

John grinned at him, and in his eyes Sherlock saw a future stretching ahead of them both, one in which he writhed under John's grip, completely under his control. He couldn't hold in a moan, thrusting uselessly back towards John's finger. God, that was a future worth looking forward to.

“I think you'll need to ask me nicely,” said John. “Try to find some of those manners that Mycroft insists you were once taught, but which I've never seen any sign of.”

The mention of Mycroft reminded Sherlock what the goal of this had been when he'd started. He took a deep breath, fixed his eyes on John with what he hoped was an enticing expression. “Please would you fuck me, John?” he asked, in his best impression of a polite person. “I really would appreciate it.”

John laughed. “Yeah, I bet you would,” he said, but he finally relented, pressing his finger inside Sherlock and beginning to work him open.

“Oh,” said Sherlock, letting his head fall back against the sofa so he could completely focus on the sensation. “Yes. Like that.”

John moved his other hand to take hold of Sherlock's cock, pulling on it in time with the thrusts of his finger. “And what do you say after someone has done something nice for you?” he prompted.

Sherlock snorted. “You're not getting a 'thank you' until we've both come.”

“Then I suppose I better get on with it,” said John, and a moment later there were two fingers in Sherlock's arse. He let out a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he adjusted, and then pushed back against them.

“That's what I've been saying,” he said. “John. John, come on, that's enough, I'm ready.”

“No,” said John. “You're ready when I say you are, when I want you to be. I'm enjoying this at the moment.”

His fingers fluttered deep inside Sherlock in a way that made him grunt. He wondered if it was going to become a problem that he'd apparently unleashed a monster by giving John this control over him, but at the moment it was far from a problem. All those fantasies he'd had about fucking John on the sofa had paled in comparison to this, to the reality of John taking charge and showing just how much attention he wanted to lavish on Sherlock.

“Yeah, just like that,” said John. “God, you love this, don't you? I could fuck you with my fingers for hours and you'd just lie back and take it, wouldn't you?”

Sherlock assumed that was a rhetorical question and didn't bother answering, not that he really had the wherewithal to do so at the moment. All his attention was fixed on the movement of John's fingers sliding into him, stretching him open, and the fist that was still griping his cock, sending shivers of arousal through every part of his body.

“Wouldn't you?” repeated John, squeezing around Sherlock's cock a little tighter. “Tell me, Sherlock, or I'll stop.”

Apparently, Sherlock did need to find enough brain cells to answer him. It was a good thing he was a genius whose brain was capable of complex multi-tasking. “Yes,” he groaned. “Yes, John, whatever you wanted, I'd take it all.”

“God,” muttered John. “Christ, Sherlock, you're so-”

Sherlock didn't find out what he was, because John chose that moment to add a third finger, and Sherlock got lost in how good it felt. He let out a moan, fingers digging into the sofa cushion.

“Yeah, just like that,” said John softly and Sherlock opened his eyes to see a look of pure affection beaming out of his face. It made something in his chest clench, and for a moment all physical sensation was of secondary importance.

_Sentiment,_ he thought. He hadn't realised it would feel so wondrous.

“Fuck me,” he said, because he didn't know the words for what he really wanted to say, and he wouldn't want Mycroft to hear them even if he did.

“Yeah,” agreed John, apparently done with teasing Sherlock. He took his fingers out so that he could put a condom on and shifted position, pulling Sherlock's hips up into his lap.

“Ready?”

Sherlock tried to scoff, but it came out with an edge of desperation rather than derision. “I was ready some time ago.”

John grinned at him. “Good,” he said, and then pressed inside Sherlock in one quick push, sending the air out of his lungs. The feeling of John inside him, filling him up, was so much more than his fingers had been that for a moment Sherlock didn't think he could cope with it, and then a moment later, he wasn't sure how he'd ever managed to cope without it.

“Get on and fuck me,” he gritted out when John didn't start moving.

John let out a laugh that was more air than sound and complied, thrusting with deep strokes that made Sherlock feel as if he was coming apart. He raised his arms over his head, clinging on to the edge of the sofa cushion to keep himself grounded and did his best to meet John's thrusts, pushing back into him.

“So good,” said John, his fingers digging into Sherlock's hips as he kept him exactly where he wanted him. “So good, Sherlock, so fucking hot having you stretched out for me like this, god, never going to get tired of it, going to keep you like this forever, our whole lives.”

Sherlock liked the sound of that, but he was past being able to form words. He just fixed his eyes on John's face and watched the flush rise on his cheeks and spread down his neck, muscles starting to strain as he fucked into Sherlock, every move notching Sherlock's arousal higher and higher until he was shaking with it.

“John,” he gasped. “John, I need to- Let me touch myself, please.”

“Yeah,” said John. “Yeah, go on then. Do it. Let me see.”

Sherlock wasted no time in getting a hand wrapped around his erection, roughly pulling it as sensation began to rush over him. He shut his eyes against everything that wasn't the steady thrusts of John's dick filling him up, and came with a strangled cry.

“God, Sherlock,” said John. “So fucking beautiful like that.” His thrusts sped up, then grew erratic, and a moment later he came too, burying himself in Sherlock and crying out his name.

He stayed in place for a moment or two, then pulled out and collapsed down on top of Sherlock. Sherlock moved his limbs just enough to accommodate him, draping his arms over John's back as John nuzzled his face against Sherlock's shoulder.

“That was good,” he said, tiredly.

“Yes,” agreed Sherlock. He waited a beat, and then added, “I'm ready for that tea now, if you're making it.”

John laughed into his skin. “Not a chance. Not for at least ten minutes.”

“I suppose I can wait,” said Sherlock, when the truth was that he would happily lie there with John pressed against him for days, and not once worry about getting bored. His eyes went to the nearest camera and he gave it the smuggest smirk he could manage. It seemed likely that Mycroft had stopped monitoring some time ago, but that didn't stop Sherlock wanting to prove his point. He didn't need his stupid older brother's over-protective meddling, and especially not now he had John.

A thought occurred to him, and he poked John to make sure he was paying attention. “John. We've both come now.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” said John.

Sherlock took a deep breath. John had asked him to do something, and he hadn't yet done it. Time to rectify that. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.


End file.
